


A Christmas Gift

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27922594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Kudos: 4





	A Christmas Gift

Casino was down in the dumps. That happened now and again, and although he was using a little more restraint than he usually did when that happened, was trying not to take it out on the guys, obviously he was struggling, and it showed.

"And it's not just that Christmas is coming up and 'im thinking about 'is family and all. It's that last letter 'e got from 'ome, I think," Goniff said with a worried frown. "Well, can't blame 'im for that. 'Is mum tried to put a good face on it, but seems Casino's dad isn't doing so well. Didn't quite know w'at the problem was, but something wasn't right." 

Now, if Goniff had heard that news about his own father, whichever member of the well-to-do if unprincipled Redmonds that might have been, or the old bastard what was married to his mum, he'd have probably danced a fandango just out of spite. But for Casino, it was a different story; Goniff knew that and could sympathize. Well, he knew how he'd feel if it was his mum or his Aunt Moll.

Chief nodded, "and it's been two mail calls since that letter came. Well, since no one except the Warden got anything those two times, not even Actor, don't know if there's a snag with the mail somewhere or if there's bad news he's not getting, or even if everything's okay again. It's eatin' at him, the not knowing, along with the worrry." 

Chief could sympathize too; he knew how much that flow of letters back and forth meant to his teammate. As for him, he didn't get much mail, hardly anything other than the missives from one or another of the O'Donnell Clan, Meghada's parents and others of the family who seemingly had adopted him for some reason. Well, if one member of the family took you in, so did most of the others, it would appear. Not all, of course; even among Clan O'Donnell there were a few stiff-rumped, priss-mouthed individuals, but they were a tiny minority and mostly ignored by everyone else, and if they decided to get troublesome and a little too pissy, there was always the Grandmother, stern and volatile Clan Matriarch, to put them in their place. Now there was a woman who, while she had claws, rarely needed to use them; she could rip the skin off a person just with her tongue if you tried her patience too far!

Now Actor, he received and sent more letters than everyone else combined, including Garrison. The conman knew any number of people all over the world, had various vaguely-described 'properties and business investments', and he kept the censors busy - at least with those missives that came through the regular mail. Much did not, though the means of that communication was something to which he'd merely give a vague smile and a casual wave of his hand if anyone inquired as to specifics. It seemed much passed through one of the larger hotels in London and a few other such places, and under quite a few different names.

Goniff got quite a bit in the way of letters too, his mum and Aunt Moll being regular and devoted correspondents. Though you wouldn't necessarily call him a regular correspondent, as you might Casino, since Goniff didn't send as many letters in return, sometimes at a total loss as to how to respond to his ladies' latest round of questions and comments and advice. Sometimes it was hard reaching inside to pull out the person they were writing to, forcing that person to write back. After all, he didn't know that person they were writing to all that well, though he supposed he had, once upon a time. He figured that had been when he was maybe no more than . . . Well, he really couldn't remember WHEN that might have been, though he had, as always, a deep and abiding love for the two ladies.

Chief and the others got a kick out of those letters when their pickpocket shared them over a drink. It was funny to see their teammate, the next oldest of the lot of them after Actor, reduced to a squirming adolescent in light of those letters. He admitted, "they never 'ave seen I'm not a tike. Ruddy 'ell, 'aven't been that, not the way THEY seem to think, not since I was knee-'igh to Actor there, maybe before." 

Well, how they thought of him, those two fond ladies, that was obvious. Some of that advice they kept delivering so sincerely was a bizarre if well-intentioned mixture of sweet urging toward good responsible behavior and stern cautioning against the temptations they feared he might run into. Most seemed to be intended for a backward teenager, including how you told a 'good girl' from a 'fast one', and how to tell if a girl was intent on getting and BEING a 'true sweetheart like you deserve, Rodney dear' versus being intent on getting a fast wedding ring 'which you are far and away from being ready for, of course'. 

Some of it was rather hysterical, including a difficult, very stilted, attempt at a 'birds and bees' talk from his mum. That would probably have been hard enough in person, (Goniff purely shuddered at the thought!), but attempting it in writing, and going through the censors, it was a masterpiece of trying to say everything while not really saying anything. 

Casino had gotten strangled over that, some of the fond advice being given, and they thought he never would recover his breath! One of the reasons for caution was summed up with a vague warning that 'some girls just aren't as CLEAN and TIDY as they might be', leaving it to the recipient to make (or NOT make) the broad leap from a straggling hemline to overall hygiene to the possibility of an intimate disease all on their own. Considering how they broached the other subjects on their minds, the wonder was that they thought 'Rodney' might actually grasp what they were warning him against!

Some of their advice, though, seemed to revolve around how to avoid turning them from mother and aunt to grandmother and great-aunt before it was proper to do so. Again, its usefulness was doubtful, since they were seemingly unwilling, perhaps unable, to call a spade a spade. 

After hearing the latest that had arrived a couple of months ago, the guys had teased him unmercifully.

"Hell, Goniff! Much good any of that will do you, except maybe make you scared to go out wandering in a cabbage patch anywhere in case you picked up a few little crumb crunchers along the way!"

Goniff just started them off again with a rueful, "oh, that's Aunt Moll, for you; she's the gardener of the two. With Mum, now SHE'S more one for birds and such; warns about keeping an eye out for storks, not letting them spot you and follow you 'ome, as they're likely to do. Not that you're all that likely to be seeing many storks in London, I'd think, but still, I suppose there's no 'arm for keeping a watchful eye out, now is there? Remember those little packets they were 'anding out for awhile, the odd ones that instead of just saying 'rubbers' or 'pros' or w'atever, didn't say anything, just 'ad a picture of a big flapping stork on the front? Always thought that was enough to get a bloke more than a little confused, you know? I mean, were we supposed to carry those around in our pocket to repell the ruddy things??! Or are they trying to attract the beasts??!"

It was only his giving them a totally wicked grin that kept them from thinking they maybe needed to sit him down for a serious talk. Well, that and having been around him for the time since they'd been teamed up together. No, Goniff had outgrown that 'birds and bees' speech a hell of a long time ago. 

Though Chief's thoughtful comment about whether they needed to think about sitting Garrison down for that same talk started the laughter up again. It ended with Goniff giving a casual shrug and the beginnings of a smirk. 

"Nah, don't expect we need to do that. Expect 'e's figured out the basics, enough to get by. Went to West Point, now didn't 'e? Fancy place like that, expect they 'ave a w'ole class there on such matters! Probably even 'ave lists, flow charts, diagrams with little arrows, Tab A into Slot B, all that sort of thing. Well, officers, you know."

Garrison coughed loudly enough to get their attention even through the laughter. 

"Speaking of lists, gentlemen, there seems to have been some misunderstanding about the items on that last one I handed out. For example . . ." and all else was forgotten in the squabbling and recriminations and excuses that ensued.

Still, every time the subject of Christmas came up, Casino's mood dropped even lower, and they were at a loss as to what might help. The man was as stubborn about that as he was about most other things; if he'd decided he was going to be in a funk, well, that's just the way it was going to be, though with his father and all, they admitted he did have more reason than usual. 

"They'll 'ave music on, for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, the BBC always does; you might like that. You said your parents were big ones for music, especially then," Goniff offered eagerly as they were getting their things together for that little assignment HQ had in the works for them. No, there was no certainty they'd be back by then, but it was something nice to be thinking about, anyway, he thought.

That just got him a dismissive grunt. Casino didn't seem interested in the BBC or what they might offer; in fact, the thought seemed to depress him even further. Yeah, they'd always had music at Christmas back home, but he doubted the BBC would have what his parents had insisted on. Oh, some of the instrumentals might be, sure, but the vocals - well, he didn't see the British being all that eager to put on vocals in Italian, even if Italy HADN'T been on the other side in that damned war. Latin, maybe, that being considered classical, but not Italian.

They were too busy to even think about Christmas for the next period of time - well, Berlin was a little too crowded with ill-intentioned individuals for it to be otherwise, and their assorted injuries had kept them occupied on the trip back. 

By then, Christmas was only a week away. Garrison was working on getting them put on stand-down, and if not that, on stand-by, for at least that long, but there was no guarantee of success. And still there was no mail from the States, and Casino continued that sinking into a pool of gloom that he'd been working on before they left.

In fact, they were all headed in that direction by now. The pay packets had been delayed, once again; mail still hadn't arrived; and no leave was in sight. It looked like it was going to be a dreary Christmas for the guys, which was a shame. While Casino, and possibly Actor, were the only ones who had a bounty of glowing memories of the season, still, since they'd come together, they'd cobbled together some good times around then, even under circumstances others would have wondered at them treasuring.

It was Garrison who came up with the off-beat idea, though he approached each man privately with his suggestion. It got him some odd looks, of course, each man expressing their doubts both regarding the concept, their being chosen for the task, not to mention the likely reception. But he noticed each of them seemed to be busy with something at times that pointed to them taking his suggestion seriously.

Then, the package arrived. Well, packages, plural. One, a small box tied with twine. One was a rectangular flat covered wicker basket, just big enough to hold a small collection of envelopes. The last wasn't a package so much, but an oversized oblong tray, covered with a blue and white checkered cover, with an envelope on top. All had Casino's name on them.

Casino sat at the table fingering the old-fashioned watch and chain - his grandfather's watch and chain - that he'd pulled from that small box. He seemed stunned, both at that familiar sight, and at the array of familiar sweets, all Italian Christmas delicacies, on the tray in front of him. The stack of letters from the small wicker container had been set aside reverently, and he'd just finished reading the folded card from Meghada that had been attached to the top of that tray.

He cleared his throat, pushed it toward Actor. "Here, Beautiful. I can't . . . " his voice tight with emotion. Actor opened the note and solemnly read it aloud.

*  
Casino - 

"Most importantly, and before anything else, you can relax. Your father is doing well again, as I am sure will be explained in the letters enclosed. Brother Ian saw and spoke with him, as well as with your mother, and while they were most surprised to find him on their doorstep, they accepted his explanation and were quite welcoming. He assures me they both seemed quite fit.

"As for the how of it - Ian was making a delivery to one of our outposts in Canada, and was able to make a slight detour. Best not to mention that to anyone other than the guys or the lieutenant; we'd prefer the aviation and customs authorities remain unaware of how inconsequential are their 'borders' when we have errands to run. 

"Enclosed are what letters your family could put together in the brief time before he had to be off and gone to make his next sheduled stop. Luckily your mother makes a second copy of any sent from her or your father, so she was able to re-scribe those for you to replace those Goniff says you never received, along with the new ones. 

"Your father sent the enclosed box; I understand he had been reluctant to entrust it to the uncertain mail, as I gather it is something of a family heirloom, but he thought Ian would be a reliable courier and he truly was anxious to get it to you, whatever it is. He says for you not to take it the wrong way, he's not 'passing the torch', nor intending to do so anytime soon, but still, thought it might remind you of home and family.

"Ian, Sweet Mother bless his helpful nature, apparently assured your mother that I would be utterly delighted to act as her emissary over the coming holiday, so I received a packet as well, it giving me strict instructions on any number of things. That is all well and good, of course, though I would be more impressed if Ian had volunteered himself. Well, brothers will be brothers, I suppose!

"Your mother sends her regrets she was unable to bake your Christmas favorites in time to send off with Ian, but she WAS able to copy off the recipes and prevailed upon me to stand in for her. She seems to be every bit the magnificent and prolific cook you've described, since she included a goodly number of OTHER recipes as well, enough I feel a little overwhelmed at the task in front of me.

"As far as this tray of cookies and other pastries, I hope I have them right; I'm not really sure how they are SUPPOSED to taste, never having had a sweet-tooth myself, and can only assume those little diagrams of the shapes she drew are open to some necessary alterations. I think there is a special contraption you might need for a few of those, though I haven't a clue what it would be called or where I would obtain it, so the results sadly show my improvising to the best of my ability.

"The special soup she says she always made for Christmas, along with the accompanying bread and all else, will be a bit of a challenge, but I've put the word out and hopefully my sources can provide me with what is required, or at least a goodly portion.

"Oh, and I am under strict orders to see that you celebrate Mass on Christmas Eve, in Latin, no less. I warn you, I have absolutely no control on what HQ or the Lieutenant might come up with in the way of alternative plans, but if possible, I'll accede to her wishes. I will do what I can, but I warn you, I will not approach Sister Therese for her input - not even for you, Casino. I've just gotten her somewhat quieted down, or so it appears, as she has not tried to 'convert' me for at least forty-five days now, and I'm not giving her even a breath of encouragement! Still, there must be a stray priest running around somewhere with nothing else to do on Christmas Eve, right?"

Meghada  
*

That last got an understanding laugh from everyone, even Actor. Well, Sister Therese WAS persistent, if more than a little misguided where Meghada was concerned. While the redhead just cheerfully consigned the pamphlets and other written material to serve as kindling for the kitchen stove, the phone calls and the occasional personal appearances were not received nearly so silently or politely. In fact, Garrison was starting to wonder if the good Sister had unresolved masochistic tendencies. Though, he'd quickly and silently amended that description - it probably was more a calling to martyrdom. At least that sounded better, maybe. 

Chief got up, opened a cupboard and reached in, though not for the whiskey bottle and glasses; Goniff was busy fetching those from the shelf on the far side of the room. No, this was something quite different.

Handing over a flat box, he offered, "me and Goniff, we found these in one of the shops; not one of the regular ones, you know, but one of the 'special' ones he knows about, where you don't go asking too much about where the stuff comes from." 

Casino opened it carefully, a little bit hesitantly, knowing the guys like he did. He blinked at what lay before him, before smiling with very real pleasure.

"I tested them, Casino, and they work on our player just fine," Goniff said eagerly. "I can't read any of that, but Actor says they're the real thing, from Italy and everything. Not new, acourse, but not scratchy or anything!"

The three phonograph records were in unmarred, if rather faded, sleeves, and Casino noted that one was even a match for one in his mom's beloved collection of Italian holiday music.

"And I will speak with Meghada regarding the Latin mass. I know a priest, a refugee. I believe he will be open to holding a small private mass here," Actor said with an indulgent smile. "Provided we are here, of course," he added, giving a look of inquiry to a benevolently-nodding Garrison, who was watching from the doorway. 

"It looks like we will be, though probably heading out a day or two afterwards, Actor. Go ahead and see what you can arrange."

Christmas Eve came, and with it music provided by those records, and indeed, there wasn't a scratch to be heard. Chewing, yes, and small sounds of delight as they made their way through that new basket of goodies provided by the redhead who was resolutely working her way through that stack of recipes, and then, at the end of the music, a deep collected sigh of contentment, none more hearty than from their safecracker.

Midnight approached, and with it arrived an elderly priest clutching the tools of his trade, urging them all, regardless of inclination, into a small area already set with alter cloth and candles. If not everyone understood the words, they appreciated the thought, and the looks on Casino and Actor's face as they bade the priest farewell were quite satisfying for the others.

They went to bed with smiles on their faces, especially Casino, and the morning brought a hearty breakfast casserole of eggs and cheeses and roasted vegetables, along with various breads, sweet and savory alike, to have with that canister of real coffee and thermos of heavy cream delivered by the same hand.

And as the noontime approached, Meghada arrived with covered pots and baking dishes and much else. She was all smiles to the others, though giving a private roll of the eyes and a harried look at Goniff, along with a whisper. "I hope this is alright; I could only do a small part of what his mother says is customary. I swear, laddie, surely not even YOU could manage everything on her 'must have' list, and I couldn't locate half the ingredients for all she included! I picked out what I thought I could handle. From what I can tell, she combines the required dishes from an Italian Christmas, from various parts of that country, and an American one, with perhaps some other cultures thrown in as well! Still . . ."

Meghada saw no reason to mention that she hadn't even tried for some of those dishes - it was winter, and her feelings about fish were quite pronounced. No matter how fond she was of Casino, she had no intention of living with the lingering cooking smell of smelts, octopus, calamari or any of the other fishy 'delights' included on that list that had been given to her. She did include a nice linguini with clam sauce, though, to make up for that, along with a pan of crispy mushroom caps filled with a savory crab mixture. No, she couldn't abide mushrooms either, but at least the smell didn't turn her stomach and she was willing to add them to the menu. And if she remembered correctly, the basket of garlic bread layered in crispy browned melted cheese, accompanied with a pan of her own adaptation of a tomatoey dipping sauce should ease the pain of no salt cod in sight. Of course, the cottage now smelled heavily of garlic, but that was something she actually appreciated. Still, what with one thing or another, she had ensured no one was leaving the table hungry.

Goniff was inhaling with delight at the rich smells that were pouring forth from those containers and could only grin in anticipation. 

"Someday, after the war, we'll find you everything on 'er list and we'll see, ei? Bet I could manage getting myself around the w'ole lot! Might 'ave to really put my mind to it, but expect I could manage!"

That got him a laugh and a goodnatured shove from her shoulder to his, since her hands were busy with the covered tray of tordilla and mini-panettone. Just inhaling that much sweetness made her dizzy and she could only wonder at the stomach-aches to follow! She'd opened the kitchen windows and doors while finishing the last round to order to get the aroma out of the cottage in favor of the air being cleared enough to let her sleep later on. She had hopes of the final dose of garlic drowning out that sugary intensity. Luckily her rations had built up, even with Goniff's inroads, and others in the family had goodnaturedly chipped in to add to her supply or she wouldn't have managed even what she did.

"Here, take this in, and no nibbling! I need to get the cream pot and jam out of the car."

Garrison was relieved, frankly, at the arrangements. He had had a few ideas of his own for Christmas, but nothing much had come together, what with the shortages and his having to chase his tail to figure out what the hell HQ was up to this time. 

Now it seemed it was working out just fine, though he was more than a little nervous about his own addition to the festivities. Well, at least it had been his idea, though he was not the one to carry it out, not the individual pieces. He just hoped it went down well.

From the looks on everyone's face in the aftermath, that was the case, that odd-ball idea of his working out better than he logically should have expected. 

Oh, each guy KNEW about his idea, but when he'd started this, he'd been sure they each thought they were the only one he'd approached for this project. - "I think he's down, and it will probably just get worse. I thought this might help, just to perk up his spirits, you know. And I couldn't think of anyone better suited . . ." 

Now, they were noticeably shocked to be a recipient as well as participant. They'd probably written the letters, handed them off to him, as he'd suggested, then forgot all about them; maybe even hoped HE'D forget all about them.

Looking back, he wondered at how he'd even come up with something so wild. 

{"I mean really, imaginary letters? Well, real letters, but written in proxy 'on behalf' of someone who isn't around to write them??! I wonder what I was drinking when I came up with that one!")

The envelopes, one each addressed to Chief, Goniff and Actor, were tucked into the bare branches of a small scraggly tree that hadn't survived the summer and was now decorated with bits and pieces of whatever they could find. 

He didn't know what was in each letter, had never read them, trusting the guys to simply do their best, trusting in the old 'it's the thought that counts' maxim, and hoping their 'thoughts' brought a smile, not a bare-knuckles brawl. He knew, with his guys, you could never be sure. The absence of one for Casino - well, with the influx of letters from home intended for the safecracker, maybe the original writer of the 'project' letter had thought better of leaving his up there.

The three men read the missives silently, bewilderment, astonishment being only the first of the emotions that flickered over their face as they read to the end, then moved back to the beginning to read the words again. 

The letter each began the same, or at least in words to the same effect, just the way Garrison had suggested, though couched to best fit with the supposed author. 

"Dear _________. As I am not there to attend to the task myself, I have asked a friend to act as my proxy, to put down the words and thoughts that come to my mind - words I wish I could say to you myself in person."

**  
Casino was watching each face, enjoying the show. He knew which was his letter, of course; it had been a job he would never have taken on voluntarily, was reluctant when Garrison had suggested it, but found it had been surprisingly absorbing once he got started. Somehow he'd grown to know things about the guys that he hadn't even realized he knew, things he couldn't remember them discussing. {"Maybe that's just the way it is when you have to depend on each other, trust each other so much. Maybe that's what happens when you get to be brothers, right along with being teammates."}. It was a shock to realize he probably could have written such a letter to EACH of his teammates, not just that one.

That he hadn't been the only one with such a task, well, that wasn't surprising, now that he thought about it. He DID wonder why there was no envelope up there for him, but he wouldn't feel hurt, he decided - he COULDN'T, not when he had all the letters in that wicker basket, the note from Meghada, and all the rest. Could he? Well, maybe he could, just a little.

Goniff was curled up in one of the armchairs, a visible warm glow about him as he read the comforting words sent from his mum and his Aunt Moll for a friend to deliver. 

Somehow, in this letter, they seemed to know and accept him as an adult, though fondly remembering the child he once was, still called him 'Rodney-luv' or something near enough. The uncomfortable anxiety he felt every time he read one of their letters, the feeling he was somehow deceiving them, that they would be disappointed if they really SAW him - that feeling didn't show up this time. Instead he could feel in their words a firm support and loving understanding of who and what he truly was, an outpouring of pride at the good qualities he had, the warmth and value he had brought to their lives and others, in particular to his teammates and those closest to him.

He had the oddest urge to reply to this letter, no matter how many other earlier ones he'd had to force himself to that task. {"I wonder w'at they'd say if I did. If I could be more 'onest with them, maybe they'd maybe be okay with me just being me? Would they really start to understand, or would they think I'd lost my ruddy mind?"}. He wasn't sure, but he thought he just might do that little thing anyway. 

Actor was lost in reverie. His letter had no signature, at least none other than 'Your Proud and Affectionate Mentor', and even searching his memory, he wouldn't have been able to place a particular name to that title. 

{"Well, obviously! I DO recognize the handwriting, as astonishing as this whole thing might be!"} he scolded himself. 

Still, it was a letter he would have been proud to receive from any of the many individuals who'd served in that mentoring capacity over the years, with its solemn expression of respect at what Actor had made of himself, no matter what he now called himself, no matter how unconventional his mode of living - respect and admiration for his talent, his skills, his determination. And now, at the way he was putting those things to good stead in fighting a fight that, although it might never be won, still must be fought as long as men of courage still walked the earth. There was even a gentle urging that he "not forget there are other things to enhance your life. I hope you will search out those things as well."

Actor looked once again at that handwriting, and shook his head in wonder. {"That he was capable of this!!! Amazing, truly amazing!"} but then he shook his head, avoiding looking in that direction. {"It is easier to believe he truly WAS acting as proxy for someone else. That will be something to ponder over time, who from my past might have touched his mind, his heart, in order to give me this gift."}

Casino couldn't help another quick look at that tree, and despite himself, though pretending it was a joke or a wisecrack, had to ask "hey, nothing there for me?" 

The others looked at him, startled, drawn away from their own thoughts, their own letter. A guilty flush came to one face, a quick glance toward Garrison by several.

Garrison was quick to fill the gap, understanding just what had happened. Smoothly he offered, "with so many other letters from your family, perhaps the sender thought that last one would be overkill, Casino."

Casino shrugged, embarrassed now at making a fuss.

"Perhaps not, Craig. It would appear there is one that has fallen to the floor. Perhaps that was meant for Casino," Actor observed.

And it was, down at the back where it had been dropped so unceremoniously by that anonymous scribe while his own was being retrieved, and the safecracker opened and read his own letter. 

Yeah, it was a little odd, having another letter from the same person who'd written him several of those in that basket, but that was okay. It made him feel a lot better knowing he hadn't been left out. Though, it was funny, really, how similar this letter was to those others from his mom, in warmth and feeling and a sense of family. 

{"No, the one in the basket, that's my mom's writing, no doubt about it. Besides, no one but her knows about Bobbie Lee, how much it hurt when we split up. Everyone else thought it was just a general falling-out, nothing like what it really was, the reason. No one but her would think I needed to be reminded, to tell me just what I needed to hear right now. And I KNOW that other handwriting, just as well as my own. Just how the HELL did he manage that, saying just the right things??! Maybe that's just what brothers do, though,"} thinking of how the right words had seemed to come to HIM, once he sat down to write his own letter.

"Hey, Lieutenant. You aren't gonna read yours?" Chief asked in a gruff voice, running a wondering finger over the page he had just finished - those words from the grandfather he'd spent a few precious years with. A letter he was intending to read for the third time, many times more. He recognized the handwriting, of course, knew which teammate had penned those words, but steadfastly focused on remembering that, as explained in the first line, this WAS from his grandfather, no matter who the old man had selected to be his mouthpiece. Those words, those memories - who ELSE could they have been from? They were just too close, too real; he could even smell the herb smoke from the old man's medicine pipe as he heard that wise and knowing voice in his mind.

"Mine?" Garrison asked, puzzled. He certainly hadn't included himself in that little round robin of literary imagination. He hadn't even discussed the project with anyone other than his guys, and surely they wouldn't have included him in this!

He moved toward the tree, to that evelope tucked in between its withered branches, to read 'Craig' in block letter. Had it been there before, when he'd tucked the others in place??

Wondering, he sat back down, opened it, and drew in a sharp breath as he looked at the signature line.

{"Grandmother??!"}

His grandmother had been gone since he was a small boy, yet here, in this letter, in these words, he could hear her voice as clearly as if she was sitting there beside him. 

Slowly, as he read the letter, a smile came to him. He'd often wondered what she would think of him, the man who had once been that small boy who'd loved her so deeply, a child she had doted on even in the face of his parents' fervent objections that she was spoiling him. Now, it seemed she'd found a way to tell him. Her love reached out to him, enfolded him as her arms once had. Her words of hope and encouragement, her reminders of what was important, all that warmed him, and he gently folded the letter and tucked it into his shirt pocket. It was something he would treasure always. 

As for the rest of their Christmas, he knew he'd be sending a letter of thanks to Casino's parents, explaining how the gifts they managed to set in place for their son, through Ian's able assistance, through Meghada's, had ended up being a gift for the whole team, himself included. 

As for Meghada and her contribution, when he offered his sincere thanks for her efforts, (though not mentioning that letter), she'd seemed to feel that being able to please them had been a gift to HER. She had admitted, with a sly smile, that being able to avoid Sister Therese in the doing had been the ultimate highlight. Looking back, Garrison could understand that. 

Though how she had known so much about his grandmother, could have put together a letter that touched him so deeply, he couldn't imagine, since he had not, to his knowledge, ever spoken to Meghada about the woman. But that handwriting could have belonged to no one other than the redhead. However it had come about, it had truly hit the mark.

{"Well, I get the feeling ALL of those letters hit their mark. Though I have to wonder about the whole idea. It's almost like I was directed, somehow. At least, it all seems to have turned out just fine. Just the Christmas gift we all needed."}


End file.
